Free Speech is dead,
Kamala ain’t black -
Joe Biden is hidin’
while Hunter’s on crack.
Hovering clouds by her face
La Lanae hides like a space
Lazy and open she sighs
Evoking grace from the skies
Nothing perturbs her ocean
All she tries steals no motion
Janell, a dry rain puddle
i am that thing there.
rolled between your lips
to blow out your sounds.
your chilled remembrance
soothes my charred indian burns
from love neglected.
some nights ago I fell to dream
your face in frost completely -
from head to toe in fact, you strolled
towards me - your silk-paved march,
my winter beauty.
I grazed your cheek confused in fear,
you blazed my chest, your eyes so near
"my dear?" I said, "why do I cry | why do we die
"such love" you say, "rebirths in tears."
words sung in C succinctly.
some moments fade in our embrace
they melt like flakes of snow, longed to
we too so melt in boundless trust,
our blessed friendship to
I ask "what if this ship gets lost to sea,
how will I find my sweetie?".
you just hum in me, a song I knew
so soft & sweet -
There's so little to say for
what lies in front of you
I tip your glass eyes for pride to pour,
there is so little. to say for
tomorrows sake does grace and beauty radiate your pores
blasphemes the christ who dwells inside you -
theres so little to say; for
what lies in front of you?
in each curve of each cloud,
your smiles and frowns
silk silver-stiched shrouds
undressed in my eyes
sketched sharp and freely
who knew hello from the blue
could redden me so softly --
just steal three thoughts from you
I’m colored, gay and lofty
the same do your eyes
stretch my heart until he smiles
like sunshine in disguise
your gaze lights me hot &
said the Thing alone in his head
“how many steps must i stay ahead
of fear and self-doubt
lest they figure me out
and peel the skin I’ve twice shed?”
we share much more in common with monsters than we'd dare consider.
Your sightly sweet smile
stole my seeing sense some
Saturdays since first you
crossed my sights.
You jaywalked the straits of
my peripherals like a perp
who stole a heart and two eyes.
I'd have cuffed you to a pole
if steel could hold diamond,
but your sparkled grin'd subdued
me and I was too lame to reach you.
i thought about one thousand things
when lying with the sun
each thought a dampen cloud
each cloud a Tattooed fish with wings
of words red one by one.
two-hundred-twenty words of Dread
and sorrow bled drippy through the sky.
red tears of dreams unsung had spread
so blinding past their eyes.
the other seven-hundred-eighty
sought sun spots sealed so sweetly
such Skies in haiti these fishes seek
eyes pour out dried completely
they splatter across all over my face
i taste musicical patterns and poetry and maths
their nebulous purpose encased like Gifts
opened too slowly to lie still in place.
dear, your lazy lips
- like two eclipses
and a sphere,
bisected by puffs
I am the son
of a man whose
impotence in love
sought refuge in lust.
won't deter the idiots
from Snapchat selfies
falling in love
with love is like
for your iPhone
a watered glass
if light weighed like lead
and your smiles were cheap
we'd ignite Manhattan
with some cents and a sheep
crushing them all, dead.
your stretch marks, my dear
like cascading ripples of rose, or
wrinkled dryer sheets.
there exist no
for Yesterdays Aches
or Tomorrows Concerns
in the Real World -
quaint tongue dances
of the throat.
"worry is preposterous" - Wi Po Yang
what Lightning "flashes"?
why, aren't we all the Weather
raining and sighing?
What such luck struck the
head of man
That he should be made softer than any feather,
warmer than any
Yet never embrace his
his unmet friends?
A single sighting
defiles our vision. White
clouds cross-dyed Drear
and Unfulfilled bleed through-in
all over our day; mucky.
Does anyone else think it queer,
with plentiful humans so near
that we bury our faces
avoid friendly gazes
to blindly pursue lone careers?
happiness evades; joy fades.
life is a rhythm of changes.
sorrow decays, peace is delayed.
But not a moment out of place.
head fit for wonder
heart to fight and will wisely
hands meant to create
raindrops and puddles
pitter patter playfully
on friend-ships at sea
"she a thot thot"
browning leaf fallen
ripples bleeding lake alone
distorting our world
even just one parchment-dry leaf can shake our vision
Coerced by Delusion, how could he
remember? To wake up
cursed by Her lies stained his mind. Love seemed forgotten and
coerced by delusion. How could he
traverse that fine line of truth he wept so silently on?
Condemn her? Awoken, he saw True love can’t be
coerced by delusion; how could he?
Remember to wake up.
I saw Christmas sun dancing with Eve sky,
like our words at night, swaying over the bed -
Glorious and merry, but just not as high.
so much to inscribe
it takes time to write haiku
and oh... never-mind.
Spend less time...
Clinging onto whatif branches .
They’re frail & sapless.
When happiness breezes by, it can’t be contained in a bottle.
If you don’t understand the breeze,
you’ll climb desperately
tumbling from broken branches & broken spirits, only to be plopped where you started, but sorer.
Let go completely and fall, the wind will catch you,
toss you up and around
and gently set you down
on the dirt
are we just as clouds;
shrouds of magic smoke through air -
soaring so proud?
Think what pains
a flame must endure:
trapped in a lantern
Inexorable gusts misshapes its form
like dead clay in uncaring hands -
pure self-found victim,
so surely estranged.
****** to winds and shimmers,
alone in the dark;
Bright auburn eyes that seek
stares itself apart.
A million souls to a flame
sharing warmth in vast night
each too blind to the others light.
and worst of all
they blame themselves,
Insecure and in doubt,
pretending they're alone.
Arrogance plays second to their
greatest offense -
ignoring love, their truest sin.
Concept for longer narrative form
Our hugs - such subtle soft candlelight;
The wick roots deeper still into our navel
One waft, we flicker -
Sharing supple warmth
in shadowy night.
Should dead trees lay uninked in vain
Death shall come to skin my mane
They’ll drain me dry to paint thin corpses
Bloodstained sheets bounds and warps
What truths I kept locked up and caged
I must not waste another page.
Should Passions press their plans to gain
What pleasures tease them; thrashed by chains
Bruised, disconcerted, they’d cut my tongue
Ring it dry to wipe words unsung
While I pillage and drown my house in rampage
I must not burn engulfed in rage.
That once known pure now lies down ****
And submits its flesh to be tattooed
This holds my heart, unyielding to change
Its fire and fervor forever estranged
With thistles and thorns we nourish our sage
I fear not death, desire, nor age.
I racked my head for a poem;
some stack of words to say "good morning, pray you are well", but stacks swell and topple messily on my hands to your eyes, so
to wake to
It's been so many a day,
we last laid gaze on our face.
Yours as mine to see,
Mine as yours to share
Without a care, laughing.
Beauty wears a short, black dress of olive silk skin.
She lies poised on the couch, drained of her special sleep.
Yet still, light pours His fingers down her figure, sleek and thin.
The face of her dress smiles behind the glasses guarding her deep brown eyes.
Beauty chose the slender sweet slits for her lips.
They match the dips her hips outline on her gown.
Her legs sit dainty off the side, but her flushed-red scarf wraps her cheeks,
And hides quietly in the back.
She sleeps soundly dressed true black, with her small eyes cracked.
Though your stressors be vile,
they'll never defile your style,
never darken your day,
for there's no bright like the bright from the light of your smile.
tired you must be
running, rolling - red, ablazed
all around my mind.
With my hands stretched East
and my toes yanked to the West,
I'm all bend; no break.
haiku are deceptively difficult
Something compels me
forcibly, fervently, pulled
to write a poem.
The humming of the birds
inside the butterflies of my heart and tummy
the blueberry-peppermint scents
of your hair tickle and dance in my nose, but BEFORE
the streams of amber and yellow rush
to drown the still forest living on your face, in warmth and peace,
so that I might see your lips,
acquaint my hand
with your hips,
to hush and silence these birds...
that's when I kiss you~!
You are the twinkle twinkle in my eye, the moonlit path that connects the sky,
a marvel - a story to be told.
Beauty so astral, a folded celebratory quilt, built to last past
All the shames of the world.
I love you
Good night ~
Send to anyone you think you haven't told this to whom you love. You may not get the chance tomorrow, seize the now. :3
Swirls of decadence dance in and about the nose of the bear,
who smells the baker's excellence.
"Her absence is my pestilence" thinks the bear.
"Those sweet scents would do me away in an ambulance" he thinks.
Given the chance, he'd take the brush from her hand into his meager claws,
and paint a portrait of him in her.
He'd accentuate his smile to show his bright grin.
He'd color his face outside the bounds to show his messiness.
Left up to him, the dim, grim hymn in his head would change the chorus from self doubt
to harmonies of carelessness and confidence.
Suspended, his thoughts diminish to silence.
"I do intend to forge a friend" he says.
"I'll ask to spend our time together in Zen".
What will she say to him then?
Luck is when the fruits off one’s labors don’t spoil before harvest – when life doesn’t pluck the buck from your pocket,
or the orbs from your eye sockets.
To be lucky means all the yucky, mucky misfortune simply grazes the hairs on your nose.
Brevity says “I am not lucky to know you”.
It's miraculous to me that you held the key to my heart from the start.
You are not chance, cause, nor coincidence.
You are rarity.
You are pleasantry.
You are necessity.
So as the day must become the night,
so too the rays of my heart must return
to rest in dusk with you
~ and for that
I am forever grateful.
Like a ship -
at the bottom of the sea.
A scene of forgotten debris;
by the pressure
of the cerulean expanse,
without a chance
against the piercing
blades of the sun,
undone and washed up
by the water of the sea,
- are the memories of you and me.
i detest cliches
In that place, I learned the borders of insanity and satire are a thin line.
You come wise to the hypocrisy and pain, delivered in vain
and try to escape it;
12 pills to a blissful, peaceful snore; and somehow,
I know better now. But I saw, 2 patients, man and woman,
who played hopscotch over that delicate line.
They wanted to see if the medication was working. They asked me to define the word ‘many’. Word stew splatters on the floor when I fumble and foil to try and explain, and they thanked me.
They said it meant a lot to them...
They’re clinically insane and I’m unstable.
These chalk lines must be dashes.